Four Times Merlin Revealed His Magic To Arthur
by justagirlwithideas
Summary: Merlin has a secret. Morgana has a suspicion. Arthur hasn't got a clue. Merlin never wanted to keep his secret for as long as he did, but the once and future king made it too easy for him. This is a tale of the four times Merlin revealed his magic to Arthur, and the one time the clotpole actually believed him. Multichapter reveal fic. No slash.
1. Dissimulo

Four Times Merlin Revealed His Magic to Arthur

And the one time the clotpole actually believed him.

Merlin never wanted to keep his secret as long as he did, but the once and future king never did make it easy for him.

Prince Arthur was annoyed. No, annoyed was too weak a word; Prince Arthur was _irked. _Someone's careless hand had permitted a goblet brimming with wine to soak the hem of his tunic, and there was not a servant in sight to fetch him a clean one. Furtively wringing out the stained cloth, Arthur's eyes scoured the room for a familiar pair of overgrown ears and scrawny legs.

"Did someone slip poison into your drink?" Morgana's mirthful voice tickled hot against his ear.

Arthur's scowl deepened. "What? No."

"Well, you look like you're in terrible pain." She giggled. "Like you're wearing pants that are three sizes too small."

"Such shameless honesty," Arthur drawled, meeting her eyes with his scowl still intact. "What would I do without you, Morgana?"

She pursed her lips. "I didn't come here to argue with you, Arthur, no matter how much sport it provides. Uther was worried about you, that's all."

The prince shook droplets of the spilled wine off of his hand, hastily tucking the hem of his tunic into his pants. "It's nothing. Have you seen Merlin?"

Morgana gestured a bangled arm towards the entry, beyond the dancing and the merriment that crowded the ballroom floor. The room was full of clamorous colors and gaudy garments, as was tradition during the annual costume ball. Arthur struggled to stretch his eyes past it all. "I thought I saw him down near the kitchens not thirty minutes ago," Morgana offered.

"Thanks," the prince said, moving to push through the bustle.

"Remember to enjoy yourself!" she cried after him. "It is the Dissuimulo Ball, after all!"

The tips of her lips that suggested a smile tilted downwards the moment the prince turned around.

"My lady," a jagged voice sounded from below her, accompanied with two tugs on her skirts. Morgana glanced down to see a hideous dwarf man staring back up at her. A gentle blue wildflower lay in his gnarled palm. "Your beauty surpasses the stories of the bards. Please accept this trifling token as a gesture of my admiration."

Morgana smiled coldly upon the wretched creature. "Your kindness does not go unappreciated. Allow me to formally thank you in a less noisy setting."

He jerked a bow and followed the lady out of the great hall and down to a deserted corridor. Morgana's dark braid whipped back and forth as she scrutinized the room for prying eyes. Finally, she snatched the flower from the dwarf's hand.

"Dissuimulo," she muttered, stroking its blossom. At her touch, the flower blackened and sprouted thorny tendrils. "A funny name for a ball, is it not? Dissuimulo means disguise_. _Why would a suspicious king ever celebrate such a word?"

"Uther hates secrecy, but a part of him has always been darkly fascinated by it. And secrecy indeed shall be his downfall," the dwarf hissed. "For tonight, my work shall tear Uther down from the inside out."

Morgana lifted her pale chin, something icy glinting in her eyes. "It would be best you recalled that you serve under the authority of me, and most importantly, Morgause. Remember your place, Balgar, lest I be forced to remind you."

The dwarf's cackle cracked once or twice as he coughed the noise out. "I am completely under your command, my lady. As is the Falculta flower you hold. I trust Morgause has told you fully of its qualities?"

"Of course."

"Just to be sure…" the dwarf stroked one of the thorns, his curling nails clicking together with the motion. "Perhaps you should hear of the plant's powers from its maker. Once enchanted, the Faculta multiplies tenfold the magical abilities of every sorcerer close enough to breathe in its air."

Morgana's painted lips stretched out into a grin.

"The effects will last for the rest of the night. You will be powerful enough to place the mind of Uther Pendragon entirely under your power. But you must recite the incantation quickly, before the king realizes your magic."

"Yes, yes," Morgana hissed impatiently. "I _know _that. I _know _what needs to be chanted. I _know _what needs to be done. By this next dawn, Uther's mind will be mine to control."

"I am quite confident of that, my lady. But take caution. The prophecies speak of a sorcerer in Camelot who intends to bring you down."

Something loud and metal clattered to the floor just beyond the bend of the corridor. Morgana's eyes flashed as she whirled around to see nothing. "Your lies do not frighten me, Balgar," she said, voice more urgent now. "Our _beloved _king has squelched magic from this land. None survived to challenge me, and none would dare. I am the witch Morgana. I am the youngest sorceress to ever apprentice under Lady Morgause. I am to be initiated as a high priestess of this next full moon. Do you understand what this means?"

The dwarf bowed his ugly head. "You are a lady of great power. I do not question your abilities."

"Finally, a wise sentence escapes your mouth," Morgana sneered. She squared her shoulders as she held up the Faculta flower. "Initarus," she whispered. The plant withered as a strange odor wafted up from its thick thorns. Soon the entire corridor was filled with a smell much like the stench of singed hair. Morgana then folded the flattened flower into a kerchief and gingerly tucked it behind the sashes and folds of her costume, a traditional gown of the Artrarian princess. She started as yet another crash sounded from behind the corridor.

"You best make yourself scarce, Balgar," Morgana murmured.

"I shall. And what of you, my lady?"

The witch's face shadowed in the flickering torchlight. "I have a ball to attend."

The harsh clacking of boots on the tiled floor reverberated down the hall. Balgar watched her keenly as she faded from sight, and then turned to the window just across from him. There wasn't much of a reflection to behold in the inconstant flicker of flames, but his two beady eyes could just make out a dark figure that was much, much taller than a knuckly little dwarf. The sorcerer grinned as he drew his cowl over his borrowed face and stole down the corridor.

"Have I ever mentioned what a complete and utter idiot you are?" Arthur snapped. "Where _have _you been? All bloody night I've been forced to hide this stain, which, by the way, makes me look like a pauper, not a Ganji warrior. I honestly don't even know what you do all day, besides lolling about in the tavern."

Merlin's face had blanched entirely, which pleased Arthur. It was about time he started taking his duties seriously. The servant hugged something close to his chest, which Arthur squinted at presently.

"What isthat?"

"A centerpiece for the king's dining table." Merlin held up what appeared to be an ornate metal plate. Two long scratches marred the beautiful handiwork, which he quickly covered with his hands.

"Did you honestly drop my father's ceremonial dinner plate?" Arthur said in a tone that would have been disbelief, if the action had not been so predictably _Merlin. _

"No!" Merlin protested, but one eyebrow quirk from Arthur broke him. "Fine. I dropped it twice. But that's only because I was startled by- by something."

"Startled."

"Yes."

Arthur shook his head. Sometimes it seemed there was no hope for that half-witted servant of his. "You better have a brilliant explanation for this, Merlin, or I'm going to have no choice but to hire someone with more than half a brain. So start talking."

"I can't," Merlin said flatly. He didn't offer a dorky grin. He didn't start blabbering, getting himself knotted up in tangles of lies. He simply looked Arthur straight in the face, lips pressed tightly together, and waited for a response.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, swallowing a wave of fury down his throat. "I'm going to ask you to repeat that again. And when you do, I recommend you revise your answer so that it fits the level of respect that your prince deserves."

"I can't explain, Arthur," he repeated curtly. For once, not a hint of humor reached his voice. "I can't explain unless you completely hear me out. Somewhere private."

"Fine." Arthur stepped towards the exit doors, then halted in his tracks. "Merlin, what in the love of God is on your head?"

A cloud of pink rose onto the servant's cheeks as he clasped the tall pointy hat above him. "I didn't have a costume. This was all I could find in Gaius's drawers."

It was a massive, ridiculous thing, all velvety navy blue and riddled with gold stars. Arthur couldn't help but wonder where he had seen it before as he and Merlin made their way into a deserted council room. He was about to ask when Merlin shut the door, heaving a shaky sigh, and stood to face him.

"Are you going to tell me what this is all about now?" Arthur demanded.

"Yes." Merlin's voice had never been so small, yet never so sure. "But you're not going to believe me."

"Tell me Merlin, or release me back to the festivities. Trust me; I'd rather be anywhere but here right now."

"Me too," Merlin muttered, which Arthur chose to ignore. "It's just that—your father is in serious danger. A sorceress is going to try and take over his mind by this morning."

The prince crossed his arms. "Can you prove that?"

"Well, no. But you've got to believe me, Arthur. I overheard her plans when I was walking back from the kitchens, and even watched her enchant a dangerous flower. She's going to use it to multiply her power and arrest control of Uther's mind!"

"I hope you realize how ridiculous that sounds. Are you _sure_—"

"Positive."

Arthur nodded resignedly. As much of an idiot as Merlin was, he had a knack for catching wind of certain plots in Camelot. "How long ago did you overhear this?"

Merlin hesitated before admitting, "About two hours ago."

"And you're only now telling me this?" Arthur roared. He snatched the pointy hat off of Merlin's head and hurled it on the floor. "What were you thinking? How could you be so stupid?"

Merlin widened his stance, like he always did when he was about to fight back. "I needed some advice first. To decide if it was time to tell you the truth. And I'd like my hat back, please."

"What are you hiding from me, Merlin? Who did you talk to?"

"Gaius. And a…bigger…older friend of mine," he managed. "Gauis is going to be very angry at the condition of his hat."

Arthur growled and grabbed it from where it lay smashed on the floor. Where _had _he seen it before? "Fine. Keep your secrets. And your dumb hat."

With wounded dignity, Merlin took the cap back into his hands. "I'm not going to keep secrets from you anymore. That's why we're here. The sorceress multiplied the magnitude of her power with her enchanted plant, but by doing so, she increased the power of every sorcerer around her as well. Which means that any magical actions taken against her will be impossible to hide, because they will be so powerful."

"Where are you going with this, Merlin?"

"I didn't want you to find out without me personally telling you, Arthur. And I can see no other way to stop the sorceress from taking control of the kingdom. So I'm risking it all right now. Here it is." He clung tight to his hat, took a deep, level breath in, and exhaled three words: "I have magic."

Merlin closed his eyes slowly, and when he opened them, he saw an Arthur at the verge of laughter. "That's right!" the prince exclaimed, popping the hat back onto Merlin's head. Merlin looked at Arthur with a look of sheer bewilderment. "Of course! That's your costume, isn't it?"

"Arthur, I don't think you heard what I just said," Merlin said, visibly wrestling a swallow down his throat.

"No, no, I did. You have magic, I get it. I finally remembered that run-in we had with the northern druid council two summers ago, where all of those men were wearing those stupid hats like the one you've got."

"Well, yes, you're right, but _Arthur_—"

"So you're going as a sorcerer. Borrowed the hat from Gauis, you said? I'm surprised he saved a relic like that from his days of magic. You're lucky my father didn't figure out your costume. I'm not sure he would appreciate the humor in it."

"There's no humor in it at all!" Merlin gasped, wringing his hands repetitively. "I just found the hat and wore it. I didn't even remember what it was from. But this is important, Arthur! Someone's trying to enchant the king, and I'm going to have to use my powers to save him. I thought you ought to know before I began, because the plant is going to blow my magic out of proportion so that there's no chance of hiding it from anyone."

Arthur set his jaw, appearing incredibly put out. "Good God, this is all just an act to go along with your costume, isn't it? Merlin, I know you're fairly new to Camelot, but you should know by now that people don't actually _act out _the part they're dressed up as."

"You don't understand!" Merlin yelled, partly in exasperation, partly in desperation. "This is real! And I might die for it! You have to believe me, and forgive me, because I'm about to go out there and risk my own life for—"

He cut off as a portly woman barged through the doors in a blindingly yellow dress, complete with a hollow hat overflowing with daffodils.

"Can I help you, my lady?" Arthur spluttered out. The woman gave a booming belly laugh and shook her head.

"Oh no, just looking for the ballroom, that's all. Uther Pendragon has owed me a dance for thirty two years now, and it's about time he repaid that debt!"

"The ballroom would be four doors over, my lady," Arthur grinned, eager to see his father's reaction to such a surprise. "Allow me to personally escort you."

"I didn't mean to interrupt anything, my lord."

"No worries," the prince said, rolling his eyes at Merlin. "We're finished here."

"Fine, don't believe me, Arthur," Merlin said through red-rimmed eyes. "Bu you will in a minute." He walked behind the prince and the pudgy lady with a quiet resolve that bemused Arthur.

The moment the ballroom doors opened, the lady burst through the crowd to where the king and Morgana were dancing together.

"Uther Pendragon!" she screeched. "You may not remember me by my looks, but certainly you will remember me by my name! I am Lady Mayelline of the House of Lippeare, and I demand a dance!"

Arthur tried to contain his laughter as he gazed upon the faces of Morgana and his father. It was difficult to tell who was more panicked of the two; Uther's face had drained of color while his ward's has turned as red as the brilliant robes she wore.

"Perhaps after this song," Morgana managed, bestowing a gracious smile upon Lady Mayelline. "My good king and I were having the most wonderful time." Her grip on Uther's shoulder visibly tightened.

"I've waited thirty two years for this! I won't wait a moment longer, Uther, and you know it to be true."

Merlin was biting his lip aggressively as he watched the exchange, which Arthur didn't understand. This was, hands down, the highlight of the entire festival.

"Morgana," his father was saying, releasing his grip around her. "I do owe my old friend here a grievous debt."

"But my lord," his ward said, something hard edging the sound of her words. "We enjoy so few of these moments. You know what they mean to me."

Uther's eyes darted nervously to the entertainers, whose music had dwindled during the conflict. "Forgive me, Morgana. I promise I will make it up to you."

Morgana's eyebrows darted downwards. Her grip on the king's shoulder did not loosen. "My lord, _please. I was in the middle of something."_

For a moment, there seemed something wild in her eyes; a dark maniac glow that contorted her lovely features. Then it was gone, gone so quickly Arthur questioned whether he had seen it at all.

Lady Mayelline chuckled to break the silence. "You've won yourself a loyal ward, my king, which proves your goodness. Prove it once more by repaying your debt to an old woman, would you?" And, shoving the willowy Morgana aside, the fat lady took Uther in her arms as a waltz swelled throughout the room. Morgana's face was blank as she stared at her hand, now ripped away from its touch against the king's shoulder.

"Attachment issues, Morgana?" Arthur baited the girl, and her face darkened considerably.

"It's getting terribly late. I think it's time I went to bed."

"Goodnight then," he said, watching not her but Merlin as she exited the room. His servant's face seemed to loosen with every step she took out of the hall, until it had settled into the easy countenance that was so characteristic of Merlin.

"Pretty good prank, wasn't it?" he finally said, offering a lopsided grin to match the off kilter arrangement of the pointy hat on his head.

Arthur just shook his head. "Your idiocy never ceases to amaze me, Merlin. Just when I think you've ran out of ways to demonstrate your stupidity…" He let the sentence fade.

Merlin ducked his head to wiped his palms on his breeches. "I dunno. I think I might have you got you for a second there, with the I-have-magic-ooh-oh and the like."

"No."

"No, there definitely was a moment. Your eyes got all big, and you did this thing where—"

"Merlin?"

"Yes, sire?"

"Shut up."

His servant consented, exhaling softly in what, unbeknownst to Arthur, was a deep and heavy sigh of relief. Merlin would stay in that room for the rest of the night, long after the ball had finished, a smile only dawning on his face when the sun clawed its way above the horizon once again.


	2. Opsepire

**AN: Hey guys! Didn't have time to properly say hello last chapter, so I'm making up for that now. Hello, nice to meet you. I'm new to the Merlin fandom but certainly not new to fanfiction. This was just a little idea that popped into my head after I finished episode 5 of the new season. The fic is going to be a four chapter story spanning from the events of midseason three to five and beyond. Read, review, and enjoy :)**

Morgana's hand trembled slightly against the blade, but she managed to cleanly slice the palm of her hand open. She fisted her fingers to coax a droplet of blood onto the temple's steps, where its splattered red stain contrasted violently against the white marble at her feet.

"It is done then," she said, cradling her dripping hand against her gown.

"No, sister," Morgause smiled. The mountain wind battered the witch's golden locks from where they stood, perched atop the towering peak. "It has only begun."

The temple step marked with Morgana's blood began to shudder, and then the entire block descended below the surface. "Go," Morgause said, taking her half-sister's hand in her own. "Ge hailige." The wound closed up immediately, and Morgana's chest heaved a sigh.

"I shall not fail," the younger witch said, drawing her hood over her head.

Morgause lifted her chin to look fondly upon the girl. "I know."

Morgana conjured a small ball of blue light in her now healed palm. Nodding to her mentor, the sorceress descended down into the darkness the lowered step had revealed.

She would see nothing but that darkness for many endless days, each one undistinguishable from the next. That darkness would drive her to the brink of insanity. That darkness would be Morgana's prison, until her bane would release her from its shivery grip.

Her bane was muscling a pile of horse manure out of the stalls on a laden shovel at that very moment, his master watching his progress with an approving eye.

"So you _can _muck out a stable," Arthur said, voice hinting at incredulity. "I was beginning to have my doubts, since you're failed to clean the stalls for the last _week_. The bartenders at the tavern must all know you by name now."

"I wasn't at the tavern, Arthur," Merlin said stonily.

"Oh, really? Then where _were _you?"

The servant opened his mouth, and then promptly closed it. He was saved from further explanation by a messenger, who burst into the stables breathlessly. "Sire," he gasped out. "The king demands your presence immediately."

"This artifact discovered within Mount Arxis is magic, I'm sure of it," Uther asserted, standing up from his throne. "What else could call the presence of six nations, all at once? Whatever it is, it's magic, and it's important."

"And dangerous," Arthur saw it fit to add. "Every man that enters the mountain fails to come out. That does say something about the artifact."

"Yes. Which means there is only one place for it: the vaults of Camelot. There we shall keep it under tight watch and ensure that it does not fall into the hands of a sorcerer."

"My lord, if I may," Gaius said, sweeping forward in his long robes.

"Certainly, Gaius."

"Your scouts have reported that Cenred's men were the first to arrive at the mountain, the first to locate the shrine at its top, the first to recognize it as the Opsepire Temple. This makes me suspicious. There is no way Cenred himself could have identified the temple."

Uther studied Gauis's face skeptically. "And why is that?"

"Because the temple has only been written about in the tomes of the Old Religion. Only the high priests and priestesses have access to such ancient records."

"You are suggesting that Morgause is behind this mission."

"Yes, sire," Gaius croaked. "And she will not stop until she obtains the artifact for herself."

"Then we must act with haste. There are many nations who seek to claim this prize, but the artifact _must _come to Camelot. Arthur," Uther said, turning to his son.

"Father."

"You and your knights are to retrieve this trophy at once."

Arthur lowered his head. "We will set out at first light tomorrow morning."

Gaius once again stepped forward. "My lord, your reports mention multiple skirmishes that have broken out between the six troops. Causalities multiply by the day. Perhaps it would be best for Camelot to adopt a level of secrecy in this mission."

"Perhaps you are right. Arthur, you are to take on this quest alone."

"As you wish, Father."

"That is all. You are dismissed."

"That's it. Mount Arxis," Arthur mused aloud. He and Merlin had paused at the edge of the forest to allow their horses time to rest. It had been an arduous two day's journey for all them, and though Arthur would never admit it to his servant, a cold and gnawing form of anxiety had taken hold of his heart.

"The mountain no one has ever escaped from alive," Merlin said in a sardonically jolly tone.

"Don't be a coward, Merlin. There's a first time for everything."

"But think about it. If Morgause hasn't successfully retrieved the artifact yet, then we don't have a chance at all."

Arthur rolled his eyes before fastening them on Merlin's. "Is this the part where you tell me we're about to do something incredibly dangerous, and I say that I don't care and we're going to do it anyways? Because it would really save me some time if I could just skip that whole conversation."

The servant shifted in his saddle. "I'm just thinking things through."

"That's the problem with you, Merlin. You think too much."

Not bothering to acknowledge the affronted look on the boy's face, Arthur dug his heels in his horse to ride closer to mountain.

Six massive camps outlined the base of Mount Arxis, their campfires wreathing the peak in small orange and yellow glows. Arthur and Merlin slipped past the troops unnoticed, as it was too crowded to draw much suspicion. Even the heavily slanted path up to the top of the mountain was cluttered with people, all questers sent by each king of the six nations.

"How many people do you think have entered the mountain, Arthur?" Merlin said in a low voice as they treaded up the dusty path. "How many people have walked in and disappeared? Just stop and think about this for a second."

"My father gave a sovereign command, Merlin, and I have every intention of fulfilling it."

"But—" Merlin spluttered.

"_What? _Would you keep quiet, just this once?"

"We're like lemmings, all following each other blindly until we fall off the cliff. Can't you see? This is a suicide mission."

"What would you have me do?" Arthur said, trying his best to keep his voice level.

"Turn back. Just this once. It's not cowardly. It's wise."

"Then call me rash," Arthur said resignedly.

One tedious day later, the pair had made it to the peak. A gathering of twenty or so men surrounded a sizable chasm in the middle of the magnificent open temple that capped the top of the mountain. Merlin and Arthur approached it wearily.

"We're about to go down," one man told Arthur, "all together. You're welcome to join. Just know I'll turn against you the moment the trophy is in sight."

"Thank you for the offer, but we're not rested enough to make the journey today. See you at the bottom of the mountain, eh?"

The man chuckled and smiled bitterly at Arthur. "That's a funny one, son."

He spat on the fine marble floor and then pivoted on his boot back to where the group congregated. Several minutes later, all had passed through the yawning trapdoor and into the depths of the mountain. Arthur didn't think he'd ever see them again.

He rotated around to find Merlin lying down on the steps of the temple. "Merlin," Arthur said, rather deprecatingly, "you didn't actually think I was telling the truth when I said we were going to rest for the night, did you? All I wanted was an upper hand. Dollophead."

"Dollophead," Merlin said, propping up his head with his hands, "is _my _insult, thank you very much. And I'll have you know that your dollophead found something of critical importance just now."

Arthur hurried down the steps to where his servant lay inspecting the marble. "Which is?"

"The real way into the mountain," Merlin said, a conspiratorial grin adorning his features. "You see these runes engraved into the side of the step?" He traced the lettering with one finger. "They're unique to only this block. It's in the Old Tongue. And it just so happens that I'm able to read it."

"Since _when_?" Arthur demanded.

"Er, since Gaius taught me," Merlin said quickly, eyes finding the runes again.

"That's a lie. When do you possibly have the time to study a dead language?"

"I make time. I'm quite studious, actually."

"Merlin, I'd sooner believe that you used magic to translate those runes than label you as _studious." _

The servant barked a nervous laugh. "Magic? To translate? Now _that's _ridiculous."

"All right. So somehow you know the Old Tongue. You want to get around to telling me what the runes say?"

"_A single demand before bloodshed shall cease: the price of one drop the debt appease._"

"What do you suppose that means?"

"This," Merlin said, tracing a faded splotch of coppery red on the pale marble. "We have to make a blood offering. And it appears as though someone's beaten us to it."

"Oh no," said Arthur. "All those other men took the completely wrong path. I wonder where it led."

Merlin wetted his lips, then pressed them together. "Most temples have a place of offering, right?"

"Right."

"Well, I think that trapdoor might lead to it."

"You mean to suggest that every man who has walked into the heart of this mountain has been offered up to the gods of the Old Religion?"

Merlin blinked. "Well, yes, I mean exactly that."

"That's the worst thing I've ever heard," Arthur murmured. "Lemmings."

"You come up with that analogy yourself?"

"Shut up."

"Yes, sire."

Arthur tugged his dagger from where it hung on his belt, and then cut a thin slash across his arm.

"Ow," Merlin said out of sympathy.

"Just a scratch," the prince growled, pushing his bloody arm against the marble. The step shook and the two boys jumped back before it sank completely below the stair, revealing a passageway underneath.

"Ladies first," Arthur said, gesturing to Merlin. The servant made a face, but consented by sliding down into the darkness.

Every torch that lined the wall immediately burst into blue flames the moment he and Arthur touched down in the corridor.

"Magic," Arthur said, a shudder of uneasiness entering his voice. "My favorite."

The two continued down the passage in silence for a good ten minutes before it fed into a larger chamber. A great marble fountain whispered in the middle of the great hall and lovely sculptures stood sentry around it. Arthur and Merlin gawked openly for a moment before a voice shook them to their senses.

"Who are you?" a man asked from behind the fountain. A midnight blue cloak hid his features from view. "What do you seek?"

"We are no one," Arthur spoke up. "We seek the legendary artifact of the mountain. Will you aid us?"

"I cannot help those who lack the mark of magic, Arthur Pendragon, just like the legendary artifact that I am destined to guard for eternity. I do regret that you have traveled all this way, only to fail now."

"I don't intend to use the artifact. I just want to keep it safe. And what do you mean, I will fail?"

"The Opsepire Amulet is safe here, under my protection. I am its last Guardian. I will not allow the precious object to fall into the hands of one ignorant of its magical powers, of one who is ignorant of magical power altogether. And so you shall fail."

"Do not make me fight you," Arthur said, hand edging towards his sword. "I do not believe it would be a battle you would win."

The Guardian laughed, and the sound grated against Arthur's ears like claws against stone. "The prophecies speak of a wise and noble king," he scorned. "I see only a foolish and petty princeling."

"I am warning you…"

"No! I am warning _you_, Arthur Pendragon. The Opsepire Amulet was forged in the Bygone Ages by the high priestesses of old. It has the power to protect its wearer from magic of any form and power. The artifact is capable of great good in the face of black sorcery, but in the hands of one unmarked by magic, the amulet would prove disastrously destructive."

"What do you mean?" Merlin asked. It was the first time he had spoken, and when Arthur glanced at his friend, there was something peculiar written across his face.

"The amulet utilizes the magic of its wearer to provide a defense against other sorcerers. The power it requires is so little that the wearer would not even feel the tiniest strain on their magical reserves. But if the wearer has no magic to offer, the amulet draws upon the power of every sorcerer in the region, perhaps in the entire kingdom. When the amulet pulls from these outside sources, its effects are devastatingly taxing upon them, to the point of death."

"But magic is evil!" Arthur insisted. "An artifact that can both shield my father from sorcery and destroy all those who practice its ways kills two birds with one stone. There is no way I can leave now without such a significant prize."

The Guardian shook his head. "The priests and priestesses of old placed me here to protect the amulet from fools like you, Pendragon. They decreed that only in the hands of a worthy sorcerer can the amulet leave its home here. All others who entered the mountain are to be executed, for their eyes have seen too much."

Arthur's mind was reeling. He tried to think of a reason he deserved to remain alive, and miraculously, one came to him. "But the prophecy!" he shouted. "You said the prophecies spoke of me in later years as a wise and worthy king. You cannot kill me now, before I have the chance to prove myself."

"You are correct," the Guardian said calmly. "I will not sentence you to death. That task is destined for another sorcerer in darker times to come. But I will not allow you to escape this mountain, either. You shall remain in my prison until you rot or until a worthy sorcerer presents themselves and takes the amulet as their own."

"Never!" Arthur said through clenched teeth, drawing his sword from its scabbard. He took less than a step before the Guardian threw up his hands and sent both Merlin and Arthur flying backwards against the stone, where blackness fell quickly upon them.

"Arthur. Arthur, come on, wake up." Merlin's urgent voice yanked Arthur from his slumber. The prince sat up hastily. He groaned as inky black dots spotted his vision.

"That was a mistake," he grumbled, rubbing his head.

"This whole mission was a mistake," Merlin lamented. He was staring at the imposing barred door that sealed their dingy prison room.

The prince snapped his eyes shut, as if trying to make the previous day's events disappear. "I'm supposed to accept the fact that I'm destined to live with you in this cell for the rest of eternity?"

"No," Merlin said, his voice braced up by one of those strange bouts of confidence he gained from time to time. "Because I've got a plan. Well, not really a plan, just a thought. But it might be enough."

Arthur leaned forward. "I never thought I'd be desperate enough to listen to one of your crazy schemes. I really have sunk to a new low, haven't I?"

Merlin's lips did not form a smile, even to humor him. Actually, it seemed his lips were forming a quiver, now that he looked closely. An emotion that might have resembled concern washed over Arthur.

"Oh, come on. What's wrong?" he asked, but before his servant could make out a coherent answer, the door creaked open.

The Guardian stood, face finally unhooded, before them. He was a shrunken man underneath his cloak with a face so white it was nearly transparent. Large, pale blue eyes looked upon the boys acutely.

"This is where I leave you, Arthur Pendragon. You should know that time is never written in stone. Not all prophecies are fulfilled; most are casted aside and broken in the end. It appears your prophecy shall join their miserable company."

"No," Merlin said, his voice piercing through Arthur's silence. The boy stood up, hands balled at his sides. "You said you would release Arthur when a worthy sorcerer presented themselves." Merlin's fists shook as he held his shoulders back. "And so I present myself now."

The Guardian's face appeared amused at first, then confused, and then, slowly, enlightened. His lips separated as he looked upon Merlin as if seeing him for the first time. "Emras," he whispered, or maybe "Emrips" or "Emmish." Arthur could not fully make the strange word out. He knit his eyebrows together, glancing first at the Guardian's shaken expression, then at Merlin's solemn visage. It made absolutely no sense. Merlin…presenting himself as a sorcerer? The most ridiculous part of it all was the fact that Guardian appeared to _believe _him!

Arthur ran his fingers through his grimy hair. "Merlin, what is the meaning of all this?"

"I am the sorcerer you have awaited for all these years. And I have arrived to claim my rights to the Opsepire Amulet and relieve you, the last Guardian, of your duties concering its protection."

The Guardian's smile came slowly, like a sun's rays sifting through heavy gray clouds. "I thought I had lost all faith in the prophecies."

"Perhaps you should believe in them once more," Merlin said gently, holding the man's steady gaze.

"Yes," the Guardian whispered. "Perhaps I will." He reached into his cloak and pulled out a magnificent crystal medallion hanging from a chain of silver. It caught slivers of blue torchlight in its glassy surface, sending off shimmers like stardust. "The Opsepire Amulet. Guard it well."

Arthur's raised eyebrow practically shot off of his head as Merlin took it into his hands and delicately slipped it over his head. "I will."

"Follow the passage to the left for several miles. It will lead you safely out of Mount Arxis's tunnels."

"Thank you, Guardian. May you live out the last of your days how you please."

The mysterious sorcerer nodded, and then backed away into the darkness of the corridor. Soon the sounds of his footsteps were lost.

Arthur still had not spoken. He fixed upon Merlin a look of complete and utter befuddlement, to which his servant dropped his chin and avoided wholeheartedly.

"Merlin," he managed to say at last. "That…was…actually brilliant. Which you never hear me repeat, ever again."

"You thought so?" his friend asked, and when he looked up again, there was a spark of something like hope in his eyes. "You're not…angry? I didn't mean for things to happen this way."

"Neither did I, but we got out of it just fine!" Arthur laughed unreservedly and clapped Merlin hard on the back. "Never thought you had it in you to lie! And the Guardian was hanging on to every word, eating it all up…" he shook his head, shoulders still heaving from his amusement. "Maybe there is a use for you, after all."

"Right," Merlin said. He looked as if he had just bitten something rotten. "I guess I'm a good liar."

"I guess." Arthur scratched his head. "Now let's get out of here."

Merlin trudged after the prince with much less gusto than one might expect, coming out of such a precarious situation with so much success. Some people might have said he looked disappointed, even heartbroken. But Arthur was not "some people," and never would be.

Morgana crept down the corridor, muttering under her breath. Her gown was mussed and torn in countless places. Her locks were wet and tangled so wildly that they resembled more of a rat's nest than a head of hair. And her eyes— her once pure green eyes, so full and beautiful, were now dark and sunken. They darted back and forth, back and forth, like those of a mouse just beyond the reach of a prowling cat.

Morgana was unhinged.

She pawed her way down the passage, hands stoking the wall as she headed towards the sunlight that was always a step ahead of her. Those hands were dripping in dark, sticky blood, the blood of the pierced Guardian who had come to release her from her captivity deep within the confines of the mountain. The coming of Emrys, he spoke of. The beginning of her end, the edge of the Reaper's scythe coming down on her neck. Morgana's bane. He spoke of her bane, just as another had not too long ago, and suddenly the warnings did not ring in her ears as lies. But who could bring Morgana down, the most powerful witch of her age? Who could touch the mind of one who knew so much, who had seen too much? Even now, in her waking hours, the sorceress could see images of what had passed and scenes of what currently transpired. She saw a boy, his face was blanketed by the dark, placing the Opsepire Amulet into the claws of a Great Dragon. She saw the face of Uther, contorted beyond recognition with pitiful rage. She saw an Arthur driven to anguished tears, and, and, and— the visions doubled upon themselves, zooming beyond the present to a future not yet written. A wizened Uther, imprisoned in a shell that was his decaying body. An uncertain King Arthur, driven astray by the lies of an advisor who remained close to his heart. A sword of gold drawn from stone, an impossible queen, a betrayal by an old friend, and, and, and—

Morgana clawed her way into the sunlight, but the world that closed in around her was one of complete darkness.

**I hope you enjoyed it. Opsepire, by the way, means defense in Latin. Questions? Comments? Compliments? Criticism? Reviews are always appreciated.**


	3. Aperione

**The third (and second to last) chapter. Enjoy.**

"What word from Arthur?" Morgause said, rising from her chair as Morgana entered the room. "Were you successful?"

Morgana stuck out her lower lip. "The location of the siege plans is a jealously guarded secret. Even with all my whimpering requests, I couldn't convince him to reveal its place within the vaults. I have failed you."

"No, sister," Morgause said, regarding the girl with a fierce gaze. "I know you did everything in your power. But we must resort to other means in order to procure the information from Arthur now."

Brushing her braid over her shoulder, Morgana joined the elder witch around an empty cauldron.

"What are you planning?"

"A draught from the hellebore root. Its effects shall prove most potent."

"You mean to brew a truth potion."

Morgause's darkly stenciled eyes peered carefully at her protégé. "Not just any truth potion, sister. The most powerful truth potion in the world."

"Aperione," Morgana breathed, and Morgause inclined her head.

"You are to attend Arthur's chambers when he is alone and present the potion to him in some unrecognizable form. Then the interrogations shall begin."

"That ought to loosen my idiot brother's tongue," Morgana smiled, breathing in the scents of the cauldron, which was already beginning to steam with progress.

Gwaine slammed his tankard down on the chipped table, emitting a particularly loud burp for the enjoyment of the heir apparent.

"Ah," he sighed, rubbing some of the brew's foam off of his mouth, "nothing hits the spot like a good pint of ale."

"It's my pleasure," Arthur said, though his wrinkled nose might have suggested something else. "This has been a nice surprise to an otherwise dull day."

"Same. When is a small town tavern ever graced by the presence of its prince?"

Arthur shrugged, taking a slow sip from his glass. "Thought I would come down here and take in the local opinion. Merlin said there had been some insubordinate rumblings concerning the new tariff, so I decided to investigate the matter myself."

"Oh really?" Gwaine snorted. "You want to know what I think? Camelot's prince got bored and wanted a good rowdy tavern to take his minds off of civic duties."

"That is a ridiculous lie."

"No it's not. Where's Merlin?"

"Assisting Gaius at the sick bay. There's been a minor outbreak of yellow fever, so the physician wanted his help in treating the patients."

Gwaine shoved a thick finger at Arthur. "So _that's_ it. You didn't have a servant to boss around and keep you busy. _That's _what bored you out of the city."

Arthur smacked his glass back down on the table. "Fine. So I wanted a little fresh air and change of scenery. You of all people could relate."

"Aye," Gwaine chuckled. "You're right, of course. I'm a hopeless wanderer."

"That's no secret."

"Oh, speaking of secrets," Gwaine said, leaning in closer to Arthur with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I ran into Merlin not a week ago, in a similarly spontaneous way I met up with you today. And I got him _drunk_."

Arthur spit a mouthful of beer from his mouth. "_What?_ I've been trying for three years now to do that!"

"Well," Gwaine said, sitting up proudly, "I beat you to it."

"Dear God," the prince said. He rubbed his forehead in disbelief. "What was he like?"

"A happy drunk. It was disgusting, actually. He was smiling and hugging everyone around him, bursting randomly into song. It was almost more than I could put up with."

"And I _missed _it."

"But the best part was when he started really talking to me. Spilling secrets and the like. He'll murder me for telling you this, but I thought you ought to know…"

"What? Oh, come on, Gwaine, you've got to tell me now."

"He and Gwen were romantically involved several years ago, when he was new to Camelot."

"You're not serious," the prince said, crossing his arms with that famous Arthur-doesn't-believe-that-load-of-bull face marking his features.

Gwaine chortled into his tankard. "I swear it's true. I suppose you hardly gave her a second glance back then, but Merlin was really taken by Gwen. He said they even kissed once, after he was miraculously healed from the effects of a poisoned chalice."

"Gwen, my Gwen? And _Merlin?_" Arthur wondered aloud, his mouth hanging slightly open. "Where was I when all of this happened? Why didn't he tell me?"

"Embarrassed, maybe? I dunno. But if you're going to give him a hard time for it—"

"—Which you know I am—"

"—Then you didn't hear it from me."

Arthur twisted his glass about in his hands, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Hear what?"

The prince returned to Camelot later that day, finally sober from the day's escapades with Gwaine. He stumbled wearily into his room and yanked off his boots, but stopped short when there was no Merlin present to chuck them at. _That damned yellow fever!_ Arthur unlaced his tunic with impatient fingers and flopped onto his bed. A knock on his door arrived seconds after he had closed his eyes.

"Enter," Arthur's muffled voice sounded through his sheets.

It was Morgana, Arthur was sure of it. No one else's shoes could clack so irritatingly against the floor. Sure enough, it was her smooth voice that announced, "I brought something for you."

The prince flipped over to view his father's ward at the entry, a goblet residing in her grasp. "A drink to relieve you after a tedious day's work."

"Morgana, you know as well as I that I accomplished next to nothing today. What is this really about?"

Her face flickered into uncertainty for a moment. "I could tell it's been a trying week for you, Arthur. Why else would you be driven outside of the city's walls for the day? I'm just growing a little worried for your health."

"Your concern is appreciated but unnecessary, Morgana. I'll be fine after a long night's rest."

"Please," she said, holding out the goblet. "Allow yourself a simple indulgence."

"Oh, I have indulged myself enough today," Arthur admitted, raising his eyebrows at the drink. "I don't think I could stomach another glass."

Morgana's benevolent smile faltered. "Come now, Arthur. You know you want just one little sip."

"Actually, I know I don't. Now, your kindness is bordering on something annoying. Please leave me to my duties."

Morgana's eyebrows furrowed. "But Arthur—"

The door slammed open and smacked her against the wall as Merlin burst in, breathless.

"Oh!" Morgana cried, beholding the spilled drink that soaked her gown.

"Morgana!" Merlin gasped. "I am so, so sorry. I'll go get some wet cloths from the kitchens, wipe up the mess…"

"It's okay," the girl said, though her voice poorly hid her exasperation. "I was just leaving. I'll see to it that Gwen gets the stains out of the dress."

"Are you sure?"'

Morgana offered a strained smile. "Of course." She strode out of the room, leaving Merlin and Arthur alone.

"What did she want?" Merlin inquired, his voice tinged with suspicion. Arthur couldn't seem to understand why.

"Oh, nothing," the prince said. He waved away his servant with a floppy hand. "Rub down my boots, would you? They're muddy from my ride today."

"Your ride? You left the city, sire?"

"Yeah. And ran into an old friend, while I was at it."

"Lancelot?" Merlin guessed.

"No, Gwaine."

The servant's face broke into a grin. "As drunk and happy as I left him, I suppose?"

"Funny," Arthur said, an impish look transforming his face. "Gwaine said the same thing about you."

"What? He said…" The redness of Merlin's cheeks began to resemble that of the scarlet neckerchief he was wearing. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," Arthur said, coming to his feet. "And he had all sorts of stories to tell."

Merlin took a step back and bumped into the table behind him. A half full goblet of some sort of wine sloshed against his impact, and the servant snatched it up before it could topple.

"Is this yours, sire?"

"Yes. But I don't want it."

"Then I do," Merlin decided, and downed the glass in four great swigs. "Oh!" he coughed, doubling over onto his knees. "That's nasty stuff."

"Figures. Morgana gave it to me, after all."

Merlin's face drained of all color. The goblet dropped out of his hand and clattered on the floor.

"It's really that awful?" Arthur laughed. "Well, better you than I to suffer it. But what was I saying? Gwaine told me all about your time together at the tavern. About the songs you sang, the stories you spilled." The servant's face had never been so white. He looked as if he was going to sick up. "Oh, come now, he didn't humiliate you more than you already have yourself."

"It's not that. Arthur, what did Morgana put in that drink?"

"What are you talking about? It's just a glass of wine, that's all."

"_I don't think so_," he choked out. Arthur made a fantastic show of rolling his eyes.

"Don't change the subject. Gwaine told me about your big secret, Merlin. There's no hiding it now."

Merlin's large eyes might have popped out of their sockets. "What…big…secret?"

"Don't play dumb. You've been hiding the facts from me for some time now. I want to hear the truth right now, from your lips."

The boy's face contorted unrecognizably. His hands gripped the table behind him tightly, nails sinking into its wood. "The…truth."

"Yes. And right now."

Merlin closed his eyes, shoulders shuddering violently. "This is the truth…you demand," he managed, and then locked eyes with Arthur. "I…have…magic."

Merlin's body convulsed once more before he collapsed on the ground, eyes rolling up into his head.

Morgana stormed into Morgause's dwelling with a sour look tugging her nose into a crinkle.

"Back so soon, sister?"

Morgana lowered her hood to reveal her infuriated expression. "Arthur's been drinking all day. I could smell it on his breath. He had no desire to consume any more of the stuff."

"That matters not. You will spike his goblet at a meal tomorrow, and then demand the location of the siege plans in a private location. Do not worry, Morgana. There is still time."

"No," the young witch said miserably. "As I was making to leave, Arthur's blundering servant bumped into me and spilled most of the potion. I set the goblet down on the table to assess the stains' damages to my dress, and in my frustrated and startled state…" Morgana shook her head. "I forgot to take the potion with me back to my chambers."

Her neck heated with shame as something ugly flashed in her half-sister's eyes for a heartbeat. _This is all Merlin's fault_, Morgana growled to herself. The idiot boy shadowed her every move, eyes always watching, always noticing what none were supposed to see. She would never admit it to Morgause, but he made her nervous. That was the real reason why she forgot the goblet; the servant's accusing eyes chased her out of the room before she could come to her senses. _Coward! _she screamed at herself internally. _You're a high priestess! Control yourself!_

"This is not a complete loss, sister," Morgause finally said. Morgana lifted a pair of hopeful eyes up to hers.

"You can brew more of the potion?"

"No. That was the last of my hellebore root, unfortunately. But if you left the goblet in Arthur's room, then perhaps he will drink it at a later time."

"But how am I supposed to know when? How do I know when he is ready to spill his secrets?"

"The potion's effects last a good eight hours. Check Arthur's room regularly when you return to Camelot, and when the glass has been drained, you can assume he will be ready to talk. Now hasten back to the city. Perhaps he has developed a sudden thirst for a drink, hm?"

Morgana's eyes widened as she realized the possibility. "I'll return to Camelot at once."

"Visit me tomorrow night with your news. And sister?" Morgause asked as Morgana's hand rested on the door's latch.

"Yes?"

"You shall not fail this time."

Morgana smiled. "I know."

Merlin twisted uncomfortably in his bed and sluggishly lifted his eyelids. When his vision filled back in again, he could see a mildly concerned Gaius and Arthur hovering over him.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Arthur said. "You didn't seem like the type for much of a stomach for alcohol, Merlin, but passing out from two sips? That's a new level of pathetic."

"I am _not_ pathetic," Merlin said, indignant.

"Oh really? If you're not pathetic, then what are you?"

The servant's face twisted for a moment before he blurted, "I am Emrys."

Gaius's mouth twitched, and he promptly clamped it shut. "Forgive him, sire," the physician laughed in a higher pitch than usual. "Must still be the drink addling his mind."

"I—I don't know what came over me," said Merlin, blinking. "Sorry."

"If this is just a big cover on your part to avoid telling me the truth, Merlin, it's not going to work."

"What?"

"We were talking earlier, before you passed out. About a secret of yours." Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. "And you were going to tell me all about it."

Gaius's face was one of alarm. "Sire, Merlin needs rest. Perhaps it would be best you returned tomorrow."

"I'm sorry, Gaius, but this issue really needs to be resolved," Arthur said, staring down his servant with an uncompromising gaze. "Spill it."

"Spill _what?"_

"Everything," Arthur demanded.

Merlin's face immediately began to judder. He opened his mouth and then bit it shut, then thrust it open again. "I—" he gasped, then buried his head in his hands. "No! I—I—" The fight seemed to seep out of his body, and Merlin's shoulders slumped in some sort of defeat.

"I have magic," he breathed out at last. "I am the last dragonlord. I am Emrys, the father of Albion, and the prophecies have proclaimed my destiny since the dawn of magic upon the earth." The words began tumbling out now, one on top of another on top of another, until Arthur could hardly make out what he was saying. "I am the savior of Kilgharrah, Great Dragon of Old, the forger of Excalibur, the downfall of Nimueh and bane of Morgan le Fe. I have magic. I was born with it. I was born with more power than any sorcerer who has ever lived, and it scares me more than anything in this world. I have hidden my magic away from every eye in Camelot since my arrival in this city five years ago in order to preserve my life. I have hidden away dangerous secrets, secrets about your long lost sister and the black magic that she practices where no else can see. I—"

Gaius clamped his hand over Merlin's mouth, which was shaking for a reason lost to Arthur. "Well," he managed to say, "I think it's safe to say that I'm never letting him near the brew again."

Arthur swallowed once or twice before speaking. "That was weird," he finally offered.

Merlin looked like he was ready to faint again. His face was a sickly shade of green and his hands kept gathering and releasing the bed sheets without his noticing. "You should go, Arthur," he said, voice thin and flimsy. "Right now. Something in that drink..."

"I'm not leaving until I got what I came for. Just admit to me the truth about you and Gwen, okay? How hard is it to admit? Stop with all—all _that_," he said, gesturing vaguely at the entirety of Merlin, "all those stupid lies, and answer me."

"Oh." Merlin pulled his covers closer around him and emitted a light laugh. "Oh_. That_. I had feelings for her ages ago, and she might have liked me back. That was when I was new in Camelot. That was before…" he faded out, noting that Gaius was still in the room. "…Before _other _people noticed her."

"And why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't have a reason to, did I? We weren't even remotely fond of each other at the time. I would have never confided in you. Also, I was undergoing a time of deep insecurity and identity searching. Baring my feelings to the person who bothered me would be terrifying."

"Okay." Arthur took a small step back. "Too much information."

"Sorry," Merlin said, shaking himself. His face turned a brilliant shade of pink. "I don't know why I said that."

A moment of awkward silence stretched out between the two, which Arthur finally sliced through. "I'll be leaving now, just wanted to clear that up. I was only thinking, because you hid the whole thing from me, that maybe…"

"I still liked her in that way? "

"Of course not," Arthur said, brushing off the comment with all the dignity he could muster. _Yes. _He was strangely relieved by the fact that Merlin no longer had feelings for Gwen. "The matter doesn't even concern me. Just checking the loyalty of my servant, that's all. Now, if you'd excuse me, I have countless other matters to attend to."

"I need to fetch some herbs from the infirmary," Gaius added. "Will you be all right here alone, Merlin?"

"Yes. In fact, I'd prefer to be alone right now. My current state is humiliating me and the more people available to talk to, the more I embarrass myself." Merlin scowled and smacked his lips together. "Like that."

Gaius shook his head, a confused frown stretched across his face. "I'll leave you to your thoughts then."

Arthur closed the door, pushing away the growing feeling of uneasiness that was ballooning inside of him. Merlin hadn't sounded like a drunken idiot when he had spouted all those lies. He hadn't sounded like a blubbering liar trying to avoid the truth about a past relationship. He sounded confident, self-assured, and powerful. In short, he hadn't sounded like Merlin—at least, not the Merlin Arthur was exposed to on a daily basis. There were those moments, in times of dire desperation, when a shockingly sage side of Merlin made itself evident, but those were instances he could count only on one finger. Nonetheless, Arthur had a growing suspicion that there was more to his servant than awkward ears and a goofy smile. There was something he was holding back that only shone through in times of darkness. There was something…something more.

Morgana searched the castle for Arthur with increasing anxiety. The goblet in his room had indeed been emptied, which meant the prince was primed and ready for his interview. But he was yet to make an appearance. The witch was about to enlist in Gwen's aid when she ran into Arthur in front of Gaius's chambers.

"There you are!" she said, holding her hand to her heart in dramatized relief. "Just the person I needed to see."

"Hello," Arthur said simply.

"I just had a brief question for you, won't take but a moment. Could you tell me where I might find the siege plans in the castle? I thought that you of all people should know."

"_Morgana_." Arthur's voice was soaked in frustration. "How many times do I have to tell you that the information must remain undisclosed? Give it up already, will you? What do you even need the maps for, anyways?"

"I—I just thought—" Morgana was mystified. The goblet was empty, was it not? But who had drunk it if not Arthur?

"I've got to go now. If you're here to visit Merlin," he said, jerking a thumb at Gaius's door, "  
I'd advise against it. I don't know what's got into him, but he's acting like an even bigger idiot than usual tonight."

"Is he?" Morgana murmured, a terrible realization coming to her. "I'll be the judge of that."

Arthur paced away as she slipped inside.

"What do you want?" asked Merlin. He sat on the bed greeting Morgana with icy eyes. "I know what you tried to do. You slipped a truth potion into Arthur's drink to get information from him."

"Perhaps," Morgana said, shrugging with nonchalance. "But you slipped something far more lethal into my drink not too long ago, need you require a reminder of just exactly where we stand."

Merlin's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "You don't frighten me, Morgana. And you know I speak the truth when I say that. You don't inspire fear in me, only pity. Every time I lay eyes on you, I am reminded of just how low a person can fall. And that makes me sad."

"No one can fall as low as Uther Pendragon," Morgana hissed. She wanted to make Merlin hurt for what he had said, daring to pity her. Did he understand how strong she had become, how powerful and learned she had grown? "And I will make him pay for that. I will make him suffer, until he pleads for death like a child mewing for his mother. I will make him _pay, _pay with the cost of misery and loss and utter abandonment."

"Misery, loss, and abandonment," Merlin said quietly. "You describe yourself."

Morgana's fury tinted the world in red. "Shut up, you simpleton! How could you ever relate to a high priestess of the Old Religion, who has read the future in the skies and written it into her thoughts? How dare you try to understand me! How could you possibly comprehend the emotions I have felt, the visions I have seen, the power I have wielded?"

Merlin's body shuddered and his mouth froze. "I—" he stopped, shoving his hand into his mouth. "I—"

"Speak," Morgana commanded, "you miserably wretched fool."

Merlin gasped, then slowly released his breath as if relinquishing control. "I understand you Morgana because we are one and the same. I, like you, have been naturally gifted with magic."

"No," Morgana whispered, but the Aperione bounded Merlin to the truth. Her mind blurred, her heart burst with an emotion that had long been buried deep within her.

"My powers made themselves evident since birth. I have been scorned, persecuted, isolated, banished, feared, convicted, hunted, and threatened with death more times that I could ever recall."

It was an emotion that Morgana had once called empathy. She felt it now, ripping herself open, leaving her raw and so utterly exposed.

"So yes, I can comprehend the emotions you have felt, the pain you have been dragged through. And I have seen visions too—I have gazed into the great crystals and witnessed futures that will come to pass and some that may not come to pass and some that will never come to pass. And I, too, have wielded power beyond imagining. When the prophecies describe my future, they speak of the most powerful sorcerer the world has ever seen, one that shall unite these lands and let magic rule once again."

And then another feeling bubbled up within Morgana—one she was too terrified to name. _Hope, _something barely whispered from within her. But Morgana could not afford to hope anymore. Hope had led to gut wrenching pain and unspeakable despair and endless, timeless emptiness.

"Quiet," she pleaded, hastily sewing back up her open expression. "Be _quiet._"

But Merlin was no longer driven by Aperione now; he spoke with conviction that came only from sheer willpower. "The prophecies did not only speak of me, Morgana," he continued on, rising from his bed. "They spoke of you, too, with regret and fear. Morgan le Fey, the darkness to my light and the hatred to my love. We are tied together."

"The bane of my existence," Morgana breathed. "They warned me of you. But I never believed."

"Believe now, Morgana, and fear! For the trials that define you are the strife that I have overcome. Believe now, and remember my name." Merlin was not a large man, but in that moment, Morgana felt herself craning her neck to look upon the face of a giant. "Emrys." The word was a crack of thunder, a trembling earthquake, a rising storm from which she could not flee.

"No," the witch said, grasping for a way out. "You- you lie."

Emrys laughed, a swelling, booming laugh that echoed deep into the confines of Morgana's mind. "No. I cannot lie. You've made sure of that."

"If you speak the truth, then there is only one course of action I must take." Morgana's hands were quaking wildly as she lifted them into the air. "I must kill you, Merlin Emrys."

Her tongue had not enunciated the first syllable of her incantation before the force pummeled against her, propelling her flailing body through the air. Time seemed to hesitate for a moment, a moment that seemed a lifetime as the witch looked upon her bane. His posture was impossibly calm and his eyes tragically sad. The eyes were the worst part. They were darkened with knowledge beyond his years, knowledge that must incessantly plague his heart and torment his mind. They stared into Morgana, into her very core, and they knew her.

His eyes were the last color she would see before her body crumpled against the wall and the world went dark. And his name—not his title, but his _name_, it would be the first word on her tongue when she awoke again. It was the only remnant she had of the fateful encounter, for the blow to her head had left her memory blank of the previous day's events. But Morgana knew _something_ had transpired, for the name would often etch itself across her mind and twist itself around her thoughts. It was times like those that Morgana would take the word and unpackage it, allow it escape on her tongue. "Emrys," she would whisper to herself, during the blackest hours of the night. And then she would fear.

**Whew. That chapter took a dark turn, sorry about that. One more chapter left now. Reviews will only encourage me to upload it more quickly :)**


	4. Resurgam

**Last chapter already? Okay well here goes nothing…**

Several winters passed, each one colder than the next. These winters would see the death of a king and the crowning of a greater one. They would see the queen's scepter resting in the calloused hand of a servant girl, a sword wrought by magic wielded by a Pendragon, the rise and self-discovery of the warlock named Emrys, the knighting of Mordred and the dawn of a new age for Camelot.

And all this time Morgana's mind teetered precariously at the chasm of insanity outstretched before her as the lines of past, present, and future blurred into one. Visions that once haunted her only in dreams now flickered in daylight hours. Glints of sunlight blazing off of Excalibur blinded her eyes. The icy blue eyes of Mordred stared into her own when she gazed out into nothingness. Soldiers bled around her bedside, broken crowns shattered under her feet. And whenever Morgana turned her head, even just slightly, she could make out the shape of a white bearded man standing just within the shadow her blind spot. The witch would whirl her head around in a hasty heartbeat, but he would be gone, only to reappear in the corner of her eye when she swiveled her head again.

"Come out, come out," Morgana would sing under her breath as her bane chased her around her head. "When will Emrys come out to play?"

She could not move without thinking about him, without fearing him and hating him just as she feared and hated herself. The warlock was always half a step behind Morgana; even as she felt herself rising on the waves of victory, she could feel his viselike grip dragging her down into her hovel once more.

"It is not such a hovel now," she told the man in the corner of her eye presently. "It is a palace."

And indeed it was magnificent. What had once been a shack in the woods had slowly been transformed into a massive underground stronghold with rich halls that rivaled that of Camelot's. Morgana's slowly growing legion of men had built it over the last few seasons, and now the witch thought it fit for royalty. In fact, it was fit for a _king._

It was time her brother paid her a visit. With this resolution set in her mind, Morgana rolled up her black cloak's sleeves and went to work. Her preparations were beginning to stretch themselves out before her when the sorceress received a most unwelcome and unexpected visitor.

He materialized inside of her chambers, hooded in dark green just as he had as a child. But Mordred was no child any longer. He was a filled out man with emptied out eyes. More importantly, he was a traitor. The moment Morgana's widened eyes took in the sight of the sorcerer, she could feel the blade slicing open her skin again, rending muscle from bone. She could feel the bitterness of betrayal, the loss of one as dear as a brother to her, as freshly as it had occurred a little less than a year earlier.

"Get out," Morgana hissed. She raised her hands up and braced herself for magic.

"No, I don't think I will," Mordred said quietly, strolling leisurely up to her. "And I don't think you can make me."

Morgana's eyes flashed dangerously. "How dare you. How dare you trespass on my territory after all you have done and venture to deny my authority. You will pay dearly for what you have done."

The witch thrust her hands forward, aiming to slash open Mordred's neck with an efficient cutting enchantment. Fire burned around Morgana the moment the spell left her fingertips, igniting her hair and clothing with searing flames. She shrieked and thrashed about until the man repealed the spell seconds later, his eyes chillingly unsympathetic.

"Oh, Morgana," Mordred said sadly, coming to kneel beside the crumpled witch. "How far you have fallen. I used to see an older sister in you, a confident, an advisor. Now I see nothing but a hateful child."

"What do you want with me?" Morgana asked. Her voice was brittle ice, ready to be cracked.

"A temporary alliance."

The witch raised her dirt encrusted face up to meet Mordred's. "I don't believe you."

"Then listen to the events that transpired three days past."

Because she had no choice, Morgana consented.

_Mordred froze as he and the other knights crested the top of the knoll. Even in the soupy fog, he could make out the village unfurled before them, and it chilled his blood. _

_ "In all my years of searching for this druid town, I would have never suspected it here, so close to Camelot," Arthur mused from one saddle over. "My father would be furious had he seen the village here, right under our very noses." He straightened up to address the group. Mordred's fingers tightened around his reigns as he tried not to cry out. "The insubordinates must be punished. Capture the leaders. Burn the meeting hall. Kill the men, but let the women and children escape. We are here to teach a lesson, not to conduct a massacre."_

_ Mordred swallowed slowly. He could not reveal his magic now. He had started a new life in Camelot, he had made friends, he had changed. But Arthur was threatening the very people who had embraced him as their own, who had raised him as a son after Morgana left him to find his own way so many years ago. Mordred could not stand and do _nothing.

_ "Is this really necessary, my lord?" he asked Arthur, trying to wring the pain out of his voice. "Killing the men, scattering the families? Yes, a faction of the Dark Society takes up residence here. But how can we punish a village for the mistakes of a few?"_

_ The king sighed wearily. "The Dark Society is the largest clan of black magic users in the region, Mordred. Only by spreading fear can we undermine the group and spread disunity within its numbers. An example must be made."_

_ "But sire—"_

_ "Mordred, I know the druid people hold a special place in your heart. But now, as a sworn knight of Camelot, your first duty is to me and the citizens of the land. I truly am sorry. But you must prove to me your loyalty by crushing this weed of evil sorcery."_

_ Mordred nodded, ducking his head so that Arthur could not see the rage that tightened his face. The druids were his _family; _how could the king not see that? And how could he ask Mordred to destroy faces that he had grown to look upon so fondly, burn the houses he had called his home for those happy years? Mordred's fists shook when they clenched together. Arthur forced him to hide his magic, to pretend to be something he was not, to live in fear and secrecy, to declare his allegiance to the enemy of his identity. And Mordred had done so, all willingly. But this? This was too much. _

_ Mordred would neither forget nor forgive this._

_ And so the screams of his adopted mother, his childhood love, his wise mentor— they echoed in his head all the way back to Camelot. The despairing eyes that shone before they flickered shut, the flames that licked the rooftops he set aflame, the accusing fingers that twitched at his heart before death stilled them, these images plagued his mind as he rode through the roads. Mordred's heart wept bitterly until he forced it into silence, into stone. Something snapped inside of him. Suddenly Mordred was weary, no, bone tired of all the secrets, all the pretending, all the sacrifices. It was time Arthur sacrificed. It was time the king suffered at the hands of a sorcerer for a change. _

_ And so Mordred sought out an old friend, an adopted older sister. He was not pleased with what he found._

"You were slow to realize the evils of the Pendragons," Morgana told Mordred, her voice sorrow-laden for the sorcerer's loss. "And for that, I no longer can trust you as I once did. But I _will _help you, Mordred, as you give me little choice. What do you want?"

"I want to make Arthur Pendragon beg for death," Mordred said. His face was as stoic as a cliffside.

"I am sorry. The king no longer drives my actions. There is another's whose death I seek now."

Mordred eyes her with interest. "And who might that be?"

"The one destined to kill me," Morgana snarled. "The one who ever evades me. _Emrys._"

Mordred's lips parted. He paused a moment before laughing briefly and harshly. "But of course. The bane of Morgan le Fey. This will be most interesting."

"Interesting," Morgana breathed, a lanky lock falling in front of her face. "What do you mean? Mordred, do you know this man?"

"Oh yes. And you do, too."

The witch's eyes blinked rapidly. "Tell me everything you know! I _must _know! I must kill him!"

"You know him well, yet you do not truly know him at all. He has dwelled within the halls of Camelot all these years, helping Arthur rise, watching you fall."

"Lies. I would have seen him. I would have known. A strange man with a long white beard. How could he hide?"

Mordred shook his head. "Your fear of Emrys hampers your mind, Morgana. You know as well as I that sorcerers are capable of many disguises."

"Yes, yes, of course," the witch murmured. "All this time, so close to me and Arthur. My plan _will _work, then."

"What do you intend to do?"

"Capture Arthur. He will be the bait for Emrys, who will no doubt run straight to the king's rescue. Two sides of the same coin, are they not? And then Emrys will be mine."

"I suspected you had a plan to harm Arthur. That was why I came here, to claim my part in his destruction."

"It is Emrys's destruction I desire," Morgana admitted, "not Arthur's."

"Then let me handle the king as I see fit. Please. I must have my revenge," Mordred implored.

Morgana's eyebrows shot downward. "No. This is my scheme and my brother. _I _will be the one to see how he is disposed of."

Mordred rose to his feet. "I will have my revenge, Morgana. And you are too weak to deny me this right."

"_Mordred,_" the sorceress growled, clambering to her feet as well. "I will not allow—"

"How do you intend to capture Arthur?"

"I—well, preparations are being made. I'll lure him out of the castle, let the knights witness his abduction by my hand. Then word will reach Emrys, and he will march on my fortress. He has trespassed here before; he knows where to find me."

"I will provide the lure," Mordred said, straightening up. "Tomorrow, at nightfall, I will lead Arthur and his knights to the Witch's Grove. Do what you must to take him. Just know that I will have my revenge." He raised his arms into the air, no doubt about to use an enchantment to disappear from the castle.

"I refuse to be your ally under these terms!" Morgana screamed, rushing at him. "And I will never let you have Arthur!"

"I think you will," Mordred said softly, which somehow sounded menacing.

"And why is that?"

"Because only I know Emrys's true identity," he said, a wicked grin tugging its way across his face, "and you will pay dearly for it."

Without another word, Mordred melted into the shadows, disappearing from sight.

"The first time I thought it was a trick of my mind, and the second time a coincidence. But now, after witnessing the freakish lights dance around Witch's Grove for the third time in three nights, I believe them to be the result of witchcraft, my lord."

Arthur frowned at Mordred from where he sat on the throne. "The grove has often displayed magical qualities throughout the years. Perhaps these strange lights are another example of its mysterious powers."

"I do not think so, sire. The last time I witnessed the magic, on my patrol last night, I saw a figure dart behind the trees after the supposed enchantment died away. I am certain sorcery is at work. Should we not investigate tonight, my lord?"

Arthur's eyes flickered to where Melin stood, hands crossed over his chest, a sour look on his face. That put the king at unease. Though Arthur would never admit it, his servant seemed to possess some kind of sixth sense; it seemed he could sniff out danger before any others could. Arthur studied Mordred's face carefully.

"Are you certain of what you have seen, Sir Mordred?"

"Positive, sire."

The knight's sure gaze fastened to Arthur's, and the king finally gave in with a sigh. "I will lead a party tonight to investigate. Thank you for reporting this."

Mordred bowed and stepped aside as Arthur stood. "A word with you, Merlin," the king said, snatching the back of his servant's coat and hauling him out of the room.

"What's this about?" Merlin asked, looking guilty for no reason at all.

"You don't approve of the mission. Why?"

"I—it's just that I don't fully believe Mordred is telling the truth."

"You are suggesting one of my most trustworthy knights is a liar?" Arthur demanded.

"No—well, it's just that I was mucking out the stables last night, just as you requested, and Mordred's horse was there. How could he be on patrol without his horse?"

"He probably borrowed someone else's," Arthur said, rolling his eyes. "Come on, Merlin, you can't just accuse someone of lying just because of a minor detail like that."

"Actually, you can," Merlin snapped. "I just don't like it, okay? Be careful."

"When am I not?" Arthur said, which caused his servant to mumble something suspiciously like "dollop head" under his breath.

The king chose to ignore this.

Arthur tugged at his reigns, pulling his horse to a halt. He gnawed at the inside of his mouth as he gazed upon the Witch's Grove, a dark clearing surrounded by gnarled trees that sat within Camelot's outer forest.

"Gather around. Keep your weapons unsheathed. Nightfall is nearly upon us, and we must be ready for anything," Arthur advised his knights. They nudged their horses into a horseshoe formation around the grove in relative silence, save the clinking of swords escaping their sheaths.

"Any minute now," Mordred said, observing the last rays of sunlight that still clung to the horizon.

Merlin pulled his horse closer to Arthur's. "Remember what we're up against. This is magic, not a beast you can stab with a sword."

"I can stab a sorcerer, can't I?" Arthur turned the golden hilt of his fine sword in his hand.

"Let's hope."

"Honestly, Merlin, sometimes I wonder if you're secretly a little girl trapped in a man's body."

"Lighten up, Merlin," Leon grinned to the servant. "I mean, what's the worst thing that can happen?"

A massive orb of blue light suddenly materialized in the center of the grove, quickly swelling with size until it filled the entire clearing.

"What in the name of _Avalon_," growled Arthur, but he couldn't manage another word. For at that moment, the sphere contracted and exploded with energy that sent every other knight flying backwards through the air. Their horses fled into the woods, leaving Arthur's friends stranded on the ground, two of them unconscious. But the force had spared Arthur, for a reason beyond his understanding. The king sat intact on his horse, sword tight in his grasp, gazing at a silhouette that was emerging from the blue light.

"Brother dear," Morgana's cool voice sounded like a smirk. "It's been too long, don't you think?"

Arthur held up his blade, kicking his horse forward. His nostrils flared as he beheld the witch. Hatred blazed inside of him, bitterness filled his mouth. "You are foolish to enter my territory, Morgana. Flee now, before I am forced to kill you."

"I will not leave until I've taken what I've come for," she said with a disconcerting smile.

"Get back, Arthur!" Merlin yelled from behind him. His friend had miraculously staggered to his feet and was stumbling towards the grove. Gwaine uprighted himself beside the servant, and Percival stirred from where he was buried in brambles. Morgana frowned once she noticed this.

"Come now, brother. It's best you cooperate with me."

"What do you want?"

"Isn't it simple? I want _you,_" Morgana crooned, raising her arms into the air. "_Eft resurgam!"_

The incantation lit the grove in orange and red. Flames leapt into the air, circling both her and Arthur, and the king shouted out as his horse reared and tossed him onto the ground.

"Arthur!" several of the knights shouted out, but even as they charged the fire, it only grew thicker and higher around their king.

"Stop, Morgana!" Arthur screamed. He clambered to his feet, though the flames were slowly suffocating him, and brandished his sword. "I have no choice but to kill you!"

"Don't flatter yourself," Morgana snarled. With a quick thrust of her hand, Arthur's blade soared out of his hand and embedded itself on a distant tree. "You're much too weak for that."

Vines that looped their way across the forest floor now rose around Arthur and entangled his arms and legs. He thrashed and struggled, but the makeshift net forced his body to collapse on the ground. Morgana drew her arms toward her body and the king shot through the air to land at her feet. "Now _that's _the cooperation I was looking for."

The flames flickered around her, as if a gust of wind had forced them to part. And then they died down to a simple glowing ring. Morgana's jaw clamped down. Her eyes had never looked so huge.

"Emrys!" she cried, voice shrill. "How kind of you to join us! Why don't you come and play?"

Arthur rolled away from Morgana in his net, towards the edge of the grove. If he could get close enough for one of the knights to cut him loose, he might be able to escape. It seemed Morgana's power over her enchantment was weakening…almost as some other force was fighting her. That didn't make any sense, magic working in _Arthur's_ favor, but the king could find no other explanation.

Sweat dripped from Morgana's face as she lifted her arms again, this time with much more exhaustion on her face. The fires lifted again, nearly scorching Arthur's face as he tried to crawl away from his oppressor.

Morgana cackled almost hysterically. "You see, Emrys? I am more powerful than you will ever be. You will learn this very, very soon."

She bowed her head and drew her hands to her chest. Then, with a reverberating cry, the witch unfurled her arms. The fire shot outwards, its flames reaching out to where Gwaine, Percival, and Merlin stood, and the energy that the flames rode upon threw the three against an outcrop of boulders. They collapsed like limp rag dolls on the forest floor.

"No!" Arthur shouted. He thrashed in his bonds.

"Come and get me, Emrys," Morgana sneered to the forest. A small beckoning of her finger sent Arthur flying onto the back of a black horse just within the shadows beyond the grove. The witch swung onto the mount as well, casting a final glance behind her.

Mordred was there, standing in the trees, watching her watch him. He nodded to her once, a grim smile on his features, and then stepped back into the blackness. Morgana hissed under her breath. She tried to ignore the fear welling up in her heart as she rode away with her captive into the night.

**So, I lied. This isn't the last chapter. I found that I needed to split the ending into two parts, so this is part one. My final update should come sometime later this week. **

**Reviews are always appreciated.**


	5. Veritas

**Final chapter for real this time! Here we go (:**

"Are you going to kill me?" Arthur asked. There was no fear in his voice, no resignation, only honest curiosity. Perhaps it was for this reason that Morgana chose to answer her captive, who was locked behind the iron bars of her prison on the lowest level of her subterranean castle.

"Not yet. I find that live bait is more effective." She curled a hand around a bar and leaned towards the king.

"Bait," Arthur said slowly, testing the word on his tongue.

"Yes, brother dear. You didn't honestly think I cared about ransom money, did you?"

"Bait for _what_?" Arthur demanded, rising from where he sat slumped against the dank wall.

"For Emrys, of course. _He _is the true protector of Camelot, the final defense against my assumption of the throne. And now he shall walk into the open, where I can finally crush him. Thanks to you."

"I do not know this Emrys," Arthur admitted. He had heard the name several times before. Sorcerers spoke of the man in a voice of reverence and hope. No doubt this Emrys was a king among men and magnificent warrior, as he was said to deliver many nations from evil and provide unity in a time of darkness. Arthur would like to meet him.

"You will never know Emrys," Morgana said. Her voice had never sounded so cold. "I am going to murder him today."

Arthur allowed himself a laugh. "Confidence was always your undoing, Morgana. Perhaps it will be once more."

"Not today." Morgana lifted her chin and made her way out of the dingy dungeon with purposeful strides. The moment the door rocked shut, a figure emerged from the darkness of the corner. A young man with curly hair and a slim nose. A young man with eyes of crystal.

"Mordred," Arthur breathed. He knew the knights would not let him down. And now they were here—infiltrating Morgana's own headquarters under her very nose. His heart swelled with pride at their triumph. "Hurry! Do you have a key?"

"I need no key," the knight said. He flicked his eyes up to where the lock sat. They glowed gold for a sliver in time, and then the door opened.

Arthur stumbled back in shock. "Magic," he said, and the word sounded tinny in his ears. "You have magic."

"Of course, you idiot. I have magic. I had magic the day you found me, just as I had magic the day I was born."

"And you didn't tell me," the king said, every syllable clipped as it escaped his mouth. Anger, disbelief, sheer shock— it all flooded into him. "How could you not tell me? _Mordred, _I _trusted _you!" he yelled.

"You shouldn't have," Mordred said darkly. A chill shook Arthur's body, starting at his neck and making his way down his spine. He began to understand. Mordred had no intention of allowing him to escape.

Mordred was going to kill him.

"I'm sorry," Arthur's voice grated out. His mouth was dry. "The druids I forced you to kill, the secrets you had to keep— but perhaps if you had _told _me—"

"It's much too late for that. And now you're going to suffer, Arthur, just as you made me suffer. It starts now, with the revelations. The betrayal. It starts with me, but I am only the first of many. Emrys is next. I am going to stand there when you find out the truth. I am going to stand there when you discover that the one closest to you has weaved a magnificent lie. The great Emrys, the magic to Arthur's might, has been hiding in plain sight for all these years. You've let him into your heart, but even now he deceives you. And I'm going to be there when you see him for who he really is. I'm going to be there when you realize that there are none left who are true to you. I'm going to be there, Arthur, when you despair."

Arthur didn't notice that he was panting until silence fell across the room. It was then that the door slid back into a lock and the friend Arthur thought he had faded into the darkness, into nothingness.

"_Magic_," the king groaned, burying his head into his hands. He slid to the ground slowly, bracing himself for what was to come. Mordred was only the beginning. Next was Emrys. The one closest to him. A lie.

A great army stretched out before the fortress that guarded the entrance to Morgana's underground castle. Arthur took it in with regretful eyes. These were his friends, his citizens. They were here to die for him. And he didn't deserve it.

"Behold, the king of Camelot!" Morgana announced with scorn. Her voice was amplified with some sort of enchantment. It boomed across the army so that all could hear. "The great Arthur Pendragon! What would you do to win him back?"

The soldiers raised their weapons into the air with a rallying cry. The ground seemed to shake with their shouts. And all Arthur felt was regret.

"Emrys," Morgana said slowly. She gazed keenly into the crowds. "What would _you _do to win him back?"

The masses went silent. They looked into each other's faces with confusion. Emrys, they asked. Who is Emrys?

A wizened old man pushed his way through the crowd until he was beyond the front line. Arthur's lips parted with shock.

"You!" he screamed down to where the sorcerer stood. He tried to point a finger in vehement accusation, but his shackled wrists would not allow him the motion. "You murdered my father!"

The army churned as they all turned to behold the man. Several yelled and threw their weapons at him, but the blades seemed to bounce off his robes as if by magic. Which, Arthur realized, was probably a viable explanation.

Morgana emitted a mirthless laugh. "_Emrys_? Kill Uther Pendragon? You honestly thought—" she broke off, shaking her head, as Arthur squinted his eyes at the famed man. "_I _murdered Uther Pendragon, brother! And I would do it again and again, if given the chance!"

Arthur snapped his head towards the witch, anguish and fury twisting his heart and stomach painfully as he beheld a face that used to be so dear to him. "You. _You_ murdered our father? You—" he could not manage another word. Never had so much hate coursed through his blood before. He was going to sink his blade into Morgana. He was going to tear her right out of the surface of the world.

"Morgana!" Emrys shouted up to where they stood on the battlements. His voice too was amplified by some sort of enchantment, which filled Arthur's heart with fear. So far, Mordred's words rang true; Emrys indeed wielded magic. "I propose an exchange."

"An exchange," the witch snorted. "How cute."

"Hear me out. You value the lives of your men, and Arthur values the lives of his own."

_Arthur. _Who was this man that addressed him without a title?

Emrys continued. "Is this bloodshed truly necessary? I know what you truly want, Morgana. You want me, and you want me dead. I want Arthur, and I want him alive. So I propose an exchange. I will be placed in captivity under your control. Arthur will walk free."

The king's jaw dropped as he stared at the sorcerer. Emrys intended to lay down his life for Arthur, the one who oppressed his kind? It made no sense.

"No one shall die for my sake, Emrys," he spoke to where the man stood below. The sorcerer did not shift in his stubborn stance where feet shoulder length apart, planted in the ground like the hoofs of a stubborn mule.

"I would gladly die for you, Arthur. Your destiny far exceeds my own. It would be an honor to sacrifice myself for my king."

For a moment, it seemed Arthur had forgotten how to breathe. The words, the voice, they were so _excruciatingly _familiar. _The one closest to you,_ Mordred had said. But the king still could not understand.

"It doesn't matter," Morgana finally decided. She regarded Emrys with a deepening frown. "I refuse your proposition. Arthur shall not go free. I shall kill you, and then I shall kill him. On my own." Then, as if speaking to the shadows, Morgana muttered, "Just as I shall discover Emry's true identity on my own. I don't need you, Mordred."

Emrys sighed with resignation below. "Then we shall enter this fortress by force and win Arthur back. You brought this upon yourself, Morgana."

"The fortress is impregnable!" the sorceress declared. Her dreadlocks brushed behind her shoulders as she lifted her head up to the sky. "It was wrought by the breath of the great dragon Aithusa, and only the breath of a dragon can undo it!"

"Then it's a good thing I brought a dragon along, isn't it?" Emrys said, smiling up at Morgana with a smug look that was so _damned _familiar, Arthur's head threatened to burst. The sorcerer opened up his hands and took in a deep breath. "_AAAAAH!" _he bellowed in a voice that was not entirely human. It trembled across the armies with power of an earthquake, and the soldiers listened in awe. "_DRAGORN! NON DIDILKAI! KAR IMISS, EPSIPASS IMALLA SOORKRAT! KATOSTAR ABORE CERISS! KAR KRISSASS ME SENTENDE RAGORN!"_

A pregnant silence fell upon the army. They waited, just as Arthur waited, with fear and wonder in their hearts. And then— _thrum. Thrum. _The wing flaps sounded like drumbeats through the air as the great dragon Arthur had supposedly slain so many years soared across the sky. _Thrum. _The men did not run as they had last time, but stared, as if seeing him for the first time for what he truly was.

Beautiful. He was beautiful, an awe-inspiring, majestic creature that made Arthur want to flee and kneel at the same time. The dragon thundered down onto the ground and nudged Emrys with his mighty snout.

"_NO!_" Morgana screamed. "NO!Guards, bring our captive back to his cell! Prepare for a siege upon the fortress! Ready yourselves to fight, leave none alive!"

Arthur resisted against Morgana's men, but to no use. They began to drag the king back down the stairs, back underneath the ground and into the darkness. He glanced behind him one last time at the army, one last time at Emrys. The man nodded to him like an old friend.

"I'll find you," he said, and it sounded like a promise. Then the sorcerer's face disappeared behind the dragon's breath of fire, which scorched the fortress's walls in flames of orange and blue. Arthur could hear the stone framework beginning to crumble even as the guards jerked him out of sight.

It was an ugly battle. Arthur was sure of it. Too much time had passed already from the time he had been thrown into his prison up until now, where he paced the cell back and forth. The odds must have been perfectly matched. But Arthur was certain that Emrys would come. He had promised as much, and for some odd reason, the king had immediately believed him.

It was just then, as Arthur wondered why he would ever possess the natural inclination to trust a sorcerer, that Morgana stormed in. Her eyes were lit by a maniac glow. Her hair was a wild wreath around her head, tangled with blood and gnarls. In her hand was a long silver sword stained and dripping with gore.

"It's time," she smirked. "Fate has bound us all together for this moment. Wouldn't you agree, Emrys?"

The sorcerer blew down the door with a gust of magic and stepped into the dungeon. His movements were stiff and feeble. Arthur didn't understand. Emrys was far too old to accomplish all that the supposed prophecies spoke of. Morgana seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"An aging spell, then," she said. "That is how you have hidden your true identity for all these years."

"About time you figured that one out, Morgana!" Emrys roared. His eyes shone yellow for a heartbeat, then the lock on Arthur's jail jangled open.

"I'm still chained to the wall," Arthur told the sorcerer. With a quick spell, his fetters clanked to the ground. "Thanks," the king said, kicking the door open to face Morgana.

"Two against one," the witch grinned. "I always loved a challenge."

"That's too bad," another voice sounded from the shadows. Mordred stepped into the light to take his place beside Morgana, who appeared just as surprised as Arthur and Emrys were. "Because now the odds are even again."

The four stared at each other in silence for a moment. It was a moment for the ages, the moment that the four most powerful beings in that medieval world stood both united and divided by the cunning knot of Fate.

It was Mordred who would speak first. "It appears all the secrets are out," he said slowly, thoughtfully, eyes prowling around the room. "All the secrets…except for _yours_." He turned to Emrys.

The withered old warlock bowed his head. "I suppose I've put this moment off for far too long. I didn't mean for things to happen this way, Arthur." Emrys would not meet his eyes. "At first I feared to reveal the truth, as it would cost me my life. I thought everything would change once you became king, that magic would be permitted and I would be able to come into the open with safety. But it didn't. Still, there's no excuse…no excuse to lie to my best friend."

Arthur's eyes narrowed, closed, then opened again. His heart had matched the quickened beat of a rabbits as he stared at the decrepit figure in front of him. It couldn't be… Arthur's mind went hazy, his eyesight a blur.

"I tried to tell you—and I _did _tell you. I told you at least _four_ times, Arthur. Please remember that before you pass your judgment. I—I'm sorry."

And then the warlock lifted his head, ever so softly, his long hair shortening and darkening with every second the motion took. Arthur wanted to look away. He wanted to close his eyes, to pretend the whole thing was a dream. But he couldn't. And so, when Arthur finally looked upon the man in front of him, he met not the tired eyes of Emrys but the fierce blue eyes of Merlin.

Merlin, his servant.

His advisor.

His confident.

His best friend.

"N-no," Arthur said, taking a step away from the boy— the _sorcerer. _The world seemed to topple down around him, shake the ground he tried to balance upon. A thousand different thoughts occurred to him at once. All the nights Merlin had snuck in late, scrambling for an excuse, all the times he had unraveled conspiracies before Arthur had discovered them, all the freak accidents that had saved Arthur's life— earthquakes, tree branches, fires, winds, fog— oh! Oh!

The king's knees buckled, he might have fallen back against a wall, but still the thoughts kept flowing. Merlin's wisdom, so out of place, but so fitting. The sword in the stone, the cup of life, the Witchfinder, the dragonlord, the _dragon_ himself— _oh. _The ridiculous accusations, suspicions—_Morgana, Agravaine, Mordred_. And all those times Merlin had looked him in the face and admitted his powers! Gwen's trial, the Dissimulo Ball, Mount Opsepire, that night he was drunk. It was all _real. _

Seven years. Merlin, the blundering, good-as-useless servant who couldn't keep a secret or tell a lie for the life of him—_his _Merlin, the secret hero in the body of a coward, the one who hid from a fight and couldn't lift a sword— _this _was _Emrys. _Who was Emrys? Who was he really? Who was the man that Arthur had gotten to know, to hate, to love as dearly as a brother? Did he even exist? Did he even care? Did he even think twice before he lied to his king for nearly a third of their lives? Did he ever think about the man he was betraying, and see the world through his eyes? Did he—he—

"MERLIN!" Arthur screamed, pounding his fists against the wall to force the angry tears back into his eyes. He shouted out again, though this time without a coherent word riding on his cry. The servant boy raised his sad eyes to Arthur's. He didn't say a word. Merlin simply pressed his lips together and waited. Morgana and Mordred were waiting too; the witch with a look of utter bewilderment, the warlock with a look of sadistic glee.

Arthur was shaking all over. Yes, his pledged knight had turned against him, his dear friend had cheated with his fiancée, his uncle had conspired behind his back, his own sister had murdered their father. But this betrayal seemed to hurt ten times more. "Why?" the king spat out at last; a single, ragged word. "Why? Why didn't you _tell me?_"

"I was afraid," Merlin said. He did not look away from Arthur's piercing gaze. "First I was afraid of my father, then afraid of you, and then afraid of myself. My magic isn't something I can help, Arthur. I was born a sorcerer, just as I was born a dragonlord. But I wasn't sure you would understand."

"Like hell, I don't understand!" Arthur yelled. "But that doesn't mean I don't _sympathize_!"

"You hate magic and hate all who practice it! You said as much to me yourself! What was I supposed to think about that, huh?"

"You would have changed my mind! You've changed my mind, changed my thinking about almost everything— war, peace alliances, treatment of citizens, my _wife—_ you could have done it one more time!"

"I'm _sorry, _okay!" Merlin shouted. His eyes were bloodshot red. "I can't do _everything!_"

Arthur bunched his fists. They were raw and bleeding from where he had pounded them against the wall. He realized that he wasn't entirely angry at Merlin. He was angry at _himself_. He had refused to see his see his servant for what he truly was, was blind to all his aspects save his idiocy. He had denied Merlin of the credit he deserved, despite all the times the warlock's magic had no doubt saved his clueless self. And for that reason, their long friendship was about to die.

"_Stupid,_" Arthur growled, referring to both Merlin and himself.

"Indeed," Morgana's cool voice fluttered against his ear. Arthur spun around just in time to see her sword drive its way towards what would have been his back, had he not moved. But now that he had, it was much, much worse. Morgana's blade was perfectly aimed towards Arthur's heart. The king didn't have time to shout out or dodge the blow.

Neither did Morgana.

The magic hit her squarely in the chest and sent her flying against the wall. The sorceress screamed as her body smacked against the wall.

"You…_liar_!" she groaned to Merlin from her crumpled state on the ground. "You _knew!_ You knew about my magic, about the agonizing pain and misery I was going through, and you left me completely and utterly _alone!_"

"I was a coward, Morgana," Merlin said, a tear escaping down the corner of his face. He kept his hand outstretched in the air as he watched her writhe on the floor.

"And for that I you will pay with your life, Merlin Emrys, bane of my existence!" She leapt to her feet and released a torrent of energy that shot Merlin through the air and against the prison bars. His mouth embraced the impact of the collision, and when he pulled himself upright, his bloody teeth were terribly askew. Arthur looked around desperately for a sword, a weapon of any kind, and found Morgana's where she had dropped it. His friend was in trouble, and sorcerer or not, bloody _Emrys _or not, Arthur was going to _save _his sorry hide.

Morgana's eyebrows plummeted the moment she laid eyes on Arthur. She promptly raised her hand to dispose of him, but Merlin was too fast. The sorcerer's eyes glowed as he forced her body to the ground. Morgana whimpered and lashed out. Her magic caught Merlin around the legs and sent him toppling over.

Arthur could hardly keep up with the invisible forces at work, but he did know how to wield a sword. With Morgana's blade in hand, he charged the witch. Hastily, she raised her hand and knocked Arthur down as well. Merlin crawled towards the two of them. His hand was raised, ready to strike. However, when he tried to assail Morgana with magic, she was ready. Their two forces hit each other head on. Arthur could tell as much from the beads of sweat dripping from Merlin's brow and the clenched look of concentration written on Morgana's pained face. The two sorcerers went silent, the true extent of their powers being put to the test. And then, after a long five seconds, a sonic _boom _rang from between where the two lay and sent every person in the room tumbling backwards.

Morgana clutched her arm in the corner. From Arthur's eyes, it appeared to be broken. But still she was conscious and made an effort to stand. With a sharp intake of breath, Merlin pushed the fire from the torch above the witch onto her clothes, igniting Morgana's body in flames. Another tear slipped down his face, and he made no attempt to wipe it away.

The sorceress screamed and screamed and batted the fire away. Quickly it was reduced to singes. Still the witch drew breath. Still she rose to her feet. Morgana was all but gone; her body was utterly spent. Still, ugly fragments of her splintered soul persisted onward, carried her forwards towards her doom.

"I won't die," she said, lurching towards the corner where Merlin lay. "Not while you still live, Emrys."

Merlin shook his head as he took in her wretched state. "I never wanted things to end like this, Morgana. I told you as much before. I didn't want to poison you, to hound after you, curse you and watch you sink lower and lower into wickedness. And I don't want to be the one to take your life." His voice crackled for a moment before he locked eyes with her one final time. "I'm sorry."

They were two simple words. Two simple words that shattered Morgana's world. None had dared to sympathize with her, to understand her, to apologize to her since Morgana had turned her back on Camelot. But the care in Merlin's eyes, the contrite _pity _in his words reminded the witch of a humanity she had forgotten. And it was upon remembering this humanity that the witch realized herself for the first time in many, many years. She saw her hideous hate, her heinous murders, her terrifying magic in an unmercifully enlightening white light. She saw herself, and was filled with deep and unquenchable hate.

It was at this moment that Mordred padded back out of the darkness once again, one final time, carrying in his hand the one thing she longed for most: a way out. He held out a long, thin dagger and gently passed it into Morgana's own. Arthur could not make a sound, and neither could Merlin. All watched in a trembling silence as Morgana bowed her head and closed her eyes.

Then she plunged the knife into her chest and sank to the ground.

Arthur only found his breath after her body thumped against the cold tile. His sister, his mortal enemy, his ultimate betrayer—

"Dead," Mordred said in a voice devoid of emotion. He was examining Arthur's face, searching it for signs of grief and despair. He found only relief.

"There are worse things to come, Pendragon," he said softly—oh so softly—like the first roll of thunder in a rising storm.

"We'll be ready," Arthur said, surprising himself by finding his voice.

"We?"

Arthur hesitated before his eyes found Merlin's. His friend nodded to him silently, and Mordred noticed the interaction. His face darkened with fury.

"Until we meet again, Pendragon. You should dread the next time you look upon my face. It will be your last."

And then Mordred stepped back into obscurity, letting the darkness consume him until there was nothing left but scuff marks on the floor.

Merlin stared dazedly past Morgana's dead body, into the distance. "So she is finally free," he whispered.

"Yes." Arthur's heart ached, but the tears would not come. "I suppose she is."

They sat in the quiet for several minutes, perhaps out of reverence of the dead, perhaps because they did not quite know how to deal with the living.

Finally, both of them rose.

"You saved my life, didn't you?" Arthur mused aloud.

"It's kind of a favorite past time of mine."

Arthur wetted his lips as he stared at the sorcerer. He wasn't really sure what to do with the man now, or where to go forward from this numbing point. Seven years of secrecy. Were they supposed to start over from the beginning now? Arthur simply shook his head, humorlessly muttering, "Idiot," his breath.

Merlin beamed at the insult, exposing his terribly crooked teeth from his run-in with the prison bar. It was a smile worthy of the Merlin that Arthur knew full well, full of that endearing quirkiness and dorkiness that made his friend who he was.

It was in that moment that Arthur understood. Emrys was Merlin just as much as Merlin was Emrys. Everything had changed, and yet nothing had truly changed at all.

Arthur sighed, realizing that he was going to have to forgive Merlin sometime soon. And fire him too; it just wouldn't do to have the great Emrys working as a servant, even if it was to the king. And then he was going to have to legalize benign magic, he supposed. That thought made his organs contract painfully, as the idea went against everything his father had ever stood for. And then there was Mordred to take into account for. The sorcerer hated Arthur's guts; it wouldn't be long before he launched his first attack against Camelot. But Arthur had a sorcerer of his own, one more powerful than Mordred would ever be. He casted his issues aside and looked upward and outward, to where the sun streamed in through the dungeon door and the knights exchanged calls of victory.

Arthur brushed past Merlin's shoulder, and together, the two stepped into the light.

**That's a wrap, folks! I've got no sequel planned, but be ready for more Merlin fics from me. I've been chasing around a couple plot bunnies that might just amount to something. **

**If you were wondering about the chapter titles…**

**Disimulo is based off of the Latin word for disguise.**

**Opsepire is based off of the Latin root for shield or defense.**

**Aperione is based off of the Latin root for reveal.**

**Resurgam is based off of the Latin root for rise.**

**Veritas is based off of the Latin word for truth.**

**Let me know what you thought of the chapter, and the story as a whole! And, by the way, thank you for reading!**

**-just a girl with ideas**


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